


Viridescent

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Depression, Eating Disorders, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:07:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4464872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis had been running out of words and he'd run face first into a novel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Viridescent

The world stopped turning the moment Louis’ face collided with a broad chest. Maybe it was trying to teach him a lesson for not looking whilst navigating the streets of London in search of a new story. You see, Louis couldn’t remember how long his inspiration had been running dry, but the apologies falling from a stranger’s crimson lips drenched Louis in poetry and suddenly the sun dimmed in comparison to the gold of his cheeks. The streets were silenced by the soft murmur of words Louis desperately tried to memorize and he found himself wondering if it would be rude to write the tumbling words down there and then. Maybe it would, but the thought of losing the languid 'oops, I didn't see you there' terrified him.

Only then did he think to look up, and he realised in that moment that he had collided with the sun itself. This boy was glowing, sparkling, iridescent. His eyes were a deep ivy green,  decorated with flecks amber and gold and framed by lashes which cast shadows across caramel cheeks, his hair a chestnut brown, long curls licking his jaw and cascading down to brush his shoulders. The contrast was mesmerizing, and yet together they looked like autumn.  Louis could barely look directly at him, so luminescent against the dull pulse of the city, eyes boring into Louis with a heat that was almost too much.

...Okay so maybe he was being a little melodramatic but hey, he's a writer and this boy really was quite something. It was then that Louis realised it was his turn to speak, and embarrassingly all he could squawk out was an eloquent 'uh...hi'. A dimple formed in the boy’s cheek as he smiled at Louis, whose breath had hitched in his chest. He struggled to believe he was real, but forced himself to refrain from pinching his own arm. He'd only been stood in front of this boy for a few seconds and yet he'd felt a shift in his centre of gravity. Louis had been running out of words, and he’d run face first into a novel.

Speaking of novels, Louis realised with a start that standing in the middle of a busy street staring at a pretty stranger isn't how he was destined to spend his afternoon, and so he reluctantly smiled in apology, stuttered out a 'sorry mate' and forced himself to continue in his walk towards the library. It was tangible, the magnetism this curly-haired stranger possessed and Louis congratulated himself for only glancing backwards once, and he felt a blush creeping up his neck as blue eyes met green once more, before he turned away again to face the inevitability of never seeing this boy again. Their interaction had lasted all of ten seconds, and yet it had altered his entire day. If Louis childishly kicked a few stones on his way to the library, nobody had to know.

Upon his arrival, Louis bought a coffee from the crappy coffee vender, and then sat in his usual spot between the window and the classics shelf and attempted to assemble some form of focus. He had a creative writing assessment due in two weeks, and until this morning he'd found himself uncharacteristically lacking in anything but awkward repetition and empty adjectives. Usually he’d be struck by the beauty of the interior of the archaic building but everything seemed pale in comparison to the stranger he’d just encountered and for once, he found himself disinterested.

Studying Creative Writing as an actual course was both a blessing and a curse for Louis, because as soon as a hobby becomes a profession the entire dynamic changed. Deadlines don't serve as particularly inspirational and so if Louis was stuck for words, he was literally screwed. Luckily, the theme for this particular assignment was "beauty" and lo and behold, Louis had encountered a beauty just moments before.  How handy.

As it turns out, chasing out thoughts of sparkling eyes and curled hair was near enough impossible and Louis quickly gave in to the resignation that he'd be writing about this boy for a while. Adjectives and synonyms for perfection found their way onto the page and he had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at points, because this was truly some of his soppiest work. He didn't even know this boy and here he was writing him a bloody essay.

After an hour, 12 pages of his journal were filled and his hand welcomed the familiar ache of too much inspiration. The coffee he'd purchased at the library cafe had long since gone cold, but he continued to take distracted sips, feeling too languorous to replace it. He wasn't even a coffee drinker before moving to London, but he'd felt peer pressure. That and actual pressure.

After another four pages of writing, Louis phone buzzed, and R2D2 whistled a signal that Zayn had texted him. He flashed an embarrassed glance around the room before checking the message, resolving to change the notification tone as soon as possible. The text had simply read:

**On my way to wherever you are.**

Zayn was Louis’ best friend, and he knew him well enough that Louis could guarantee he'd be at the library within 10 minutes. He'd come here every day for the past month in an attempt to a) feel artsy and productive and b) get some of his thoughts onto paper. He revelled in the feeling of finding silence within the busy city. Today was the first day that he'd actually made some progress, and so he'd welcome Zayn's company as a reward for his productivity. Louis sent him two words as a reply.

**Bring coffee**

Sure enough, when Louis had next glanced up from his watch, which was telling him exactly 10 minutes had passed since Zayn's text, the raven-haired boy was stood in front of him with two steaming paper cups and a grin.

"Vanilla, yes?" He said by way of greeting, nodding towards the forlorn looking cup Louis held in his exhausted fingers, which were starting to blister from the words which had been spilling into his journal for the past hour. Louis grinned and nodded sheepishly, and Zayn laughed before setting down one of the cups in front of Louis, and making to throw his old one out, sneaking a glance at the page Louis was on as he leant over the table.

"Finally written something, I see? "

"You could say that?"

Louis flicked through everything he’d written as an answer, taking care to not linger on any of the pages long enough for Zayn to register the words. Although Louis adored Zayn, and he trusted him, he really did, nobody besides his professors had ever read his writing, and he selfishly intended to keep it that way.

"Good. Was beginning to worry you were illiterate, you know?" Zayn teased, and the two fell into a quiet, easy conversation after that, taking care not to disturb any of the bleary eyed students who were also seeking solitude within the quiet walls of the library.

For all the words Louis had spinning round in his brain, he could never fully express how grateful he was to have found Zayn. They'd met in the doctor's waiting room  (the most romantic place to find new friends, in Louis’ opinion) and something about the boy eating a bag of crisps, dressed in an old leather jacket with ebony hair and caramel skin, had called to Louis. For that very reason, his reply when the boy turned to him, glanced him over and said "depression, yes?" Louis’ reply wasn't "piss off". Instead, he sat down next to him, nodded, and stole a crisp.

They moved in together  4 months later, and since then, they'd found the sort of resilient companionship that can only come from both being a little bit broken. On the days when Louis struggled to even lift his head from the pillow, Zayn would climb in beside him and braid secrets into his hair, whispering about dragons and moth balls and peanut butter until it hurt Louis a little less to open his eyelids. They'd seen each other at their lowest points; Louis had spent many a day holding Zayn’s hair as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl because he didn't know how else to cope with the constant anxiety that bubbled within him. It was for this reason that Louis didn't tell Zayn about the curly-headed boy he'd ran into earlier that day, knowing that although he'd never voice it, his eyes would narrow almost undetectably with concern and his fingers would grip the coffee cup tighter for a fraction of a second and that later that night, thinking Louis was asleep, he'd whisper that he couldn't bear to see him break again. For both their sakes, Louis kept the beautiful boy to himself.

They finished their coffees and Zayn threw both cups in the bin as Louis collected his journal and pencils. Out of habit, Zayn threw a wink at the brown eyed boy who was sat at a table opposite the boys, as he was every other time they frequented the library. Zayn always took the time to greet him with either a murmured 'hello' or a less-than-subtle wink, and although the boy always reddened slightly, smiling shyly, he had yet to return the greeting audibly. Still, Zayn wasn't one to let that deter him and Louis chuckled fondly as he watched his friend offer a cheeky wave before they both ambled back out onto the darkening London streets.

"The fridge may be empty" Zayn offered somewhat sheepishly, "and so we might have to get a Chinese or something tonight."

"Makes a change" Louis quipped back in amusement. "Although I'm kind of just in the mood for coco-pops and a beer. "

Zayn grinned and nodded in approval, and Louis knew right then that there was a reason he'd moved in with this loser.


End file.
